


salt

by mornen



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22533571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mornen/pseuds/mornen
Summary: Voronwë looks up at him, staring. Tuor sees fear in his eyes, rendered back to him. He sees years of torment, tossed and captured by the brimming waves. He sees the madness and the loneliness of the writhing brine. Voronwë lies in his arms, a slave freed from the Sea. And Tuor lies beside him, once a slave of Men, now also free. He wonders which is worse, or if is possible to weigh pain against pain and find one the harder. They are both alive. That should be enough.
Relationships: Tuor/Voronwë (Tolkien)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	salt

Voronwë’s hair lies like a ribbon over his chest. His heartbeat is visible upon his neck. His fingers tremble as Tuor takes them. Tuor presses his hands against his chest where his heart also beats.

‘We both lived,’ Tuor tells him.

Voronwë looks up at him, staring. Tuor sees fear in his eyes, rendered back to him. He sees years of torment, tossed and captured by the brimming waves. He sees the madness and the loneliness of the writhing brine. Voronwë lies in his arms, a slave freed from the Sea. And Tuor lies beside him, once a slave of Men, now also free. He wonders which is worse, or if it is possible to weigh pain against pain and find one the harder. They are both alive. That should be enough.

He touches Voronwë’s hair. It is soft against his fingers. ‘You survived,’ he says.

Voronwë looks away as tears start in his eyes. ‘And only I, and maybe not much longer.’

Voronwë’s eyes are starlit. They are glittering jewels. They are beautiful and kind and so gentle Tuor wants to scream. He has forgotten gentleness. He turns Voronwë’s face towards him. He wants to save him from his past. He wants to undo what has happened, even if then they would never meet. He touches his lashes, and draws his fingers back wet.

‘You will live,’ Tuor whispers.

Voronwë’s chest is narrow. Tuor can feel his every rib; his every breath rocks his body. His clothes are worn thin. He has worn them for seven years. They smell like salt. He smells like salt. Tuor tastes the salt of the wasting Sea when he kisses his hand. Voronwë draws his hand away.

‘They all died,’ he says.

Tuor nods.

‘We thought they would have mercy on us.’

Tuor nods again.

'We should have known.'

Tuor kisses him softly, and his lips taste like salt too. They taste of salt, and they tremble, and Voronwë places his hand on Tuor's arm, and his eyes are wild. Tuor feels he could fall into them and drown.

Voronwë looks up at the sky as the day shrinks away. They will walk on again in the night. Tuor does not ask him where or if the path lies straight. Snow falls.


End file.
